Underground Tragedy

A story about my grandfather, Harry Cobbledick Werry

Written by Margie Dawn Werry Butler, 1936



1917 - The Joseph and Elizabeth Werry Family

It was early fall in the year 1887.  Central City, Colorado, was a little mining town, just beginning to prosper from the vast amount of gold which it's mines were producing.  Some of the mines were so rich that when a rock containing the ore was broken apart, it would hang together by threads of gold, which was called "wire gold". 

Miners and their families were prospering, since gold was abundant and it sold for a fair price.  Men came from long distances, staked claims, built homes among the foothills and in the valleys, and settled their families in this remarkable section of the country. Thus the fame of Central City continued to travel, bringing men and women, young and old alike, to it's vast mountainous section, rich gold mines, gambling halls, smelly saloons, crowded dance halls and it's variety of humanity.  It was indeed a thriving little town which would someday develop into a city. 

Harry and Lillian had met, had loved, and had married in the town, and a happier couple couldn't not be found.  Their love was beautiful, the kind that develops and becomes more firm and abiding as the years pass.  They were devoted to each other, nothing could part them, ever.  The couple moved into their new home which was built among the foothills, a short distance from the town.  It looked just like any other little house in Central City, but there was something, an indefinable something, that made it dear to the two who owned it. 



1887 - Harry C Werry and Lillian Carr Wedding Photo

Harry and his Uncle Jack owned a mine called the "Emperor", which was only a mile from the young couple's new home.  Harry would leave early in the morning and walk to work, carrying the lunch which Lillian had prepared for him.  He would work far underground all day, digging shafts and tunnels farther into the earth and working on rich veins of gold in the walls of a drift.  Often in the evenings before he went home, he would drill innumerable holes, insert the dynamite, light the long fuse, and hurry home in the dusk.  A miner always waited until he was ready to go home in the evenings before he inserted the dynamite in the drills and lit the fuse.  In the morning the fatal fumes from the exploded dynamite would have disappeared, and the miner could resume his work in safety.  Harry would go home in the evenings, tired but happy, for didn't he have the sweetest wife in the world waiting for his return?  Oh, it was good to be alive!  It seemed impossible that anyone could be as happy as he was. 

Days came and went, and the couple were blissfully happy for five short weeks, when the inevitable happened.  The morning had begun in the usual manner.  Breakfast was over and Harry had brought in an extra supply of wood and coal for his wife.  Lillian put up her husband's lunch, kissed him goodbye, and watched him until he turned to wave to her before disappearing from view.  Had they thought of it, they would have laughed at the idea of impending disaster.  Nothing could impair such a passionate devotion they felt for each other.  it would have seemed incredible to them had they known Harry would never see his wife again.  It was too unreal.  Fate couldn't be so cruel to them.  Harry was joined by his Uncle Jack at the latter's house, and shouldering their pickaxes, the rest of their tools were at the mine, they walked along the path leading to the mountain.  The younger man was extremely happy.  Life was good to him, he had everything a man could wish for.  There was nothing he lacked.  Wouldn't Uncle Jack come over and help them make candy tonight?  Yes, Uncle Jack would be glad for an excuse to get away from his lonely house.  His wife had been dead a good many years, and he enjoyed the frequent visits with his niece and nephew. 

They laughed and joked and were in high spirits when the mine was reached, then they went seriously to work.  Harry descended into the excavation to resume the digging of a drift in which he had drilled dynamite the night before. A considerable amount of the bedrock had been blown into small particles, and every drill had exploded except one.  It was a common occurrence for a drill not to explode, although when the miner "spooned" the dirt out and inserted dynamite again, he had to be very careful.  It was so easy for the explosive to go off by the slight pressure or friction of removing the dirt which covered it.  Harry decided he would drill again before he went home that evening, so he preceded to another task.  The day passed in much the same manner as a day passes in the life of a miner.  In a short while, it was time to drill and go home.  Harry was kneeling on the floor of the shaft scraping the dirt from the drill which had not exploded. 

No one will ever know how it happened, it was all over in such a short time. When the dynamite exploded, the force was so great, it threw Harry down, but he was not knocked unconscious.  Stunned and bleeding, he crawled on his hands and knees back along the shaft.  But the darkness!  And the excruciating pain! It must have been terrible.  He will never know how he could tell where he was going, nor how he could crawl, maimed as he was.  And the dangerous, stifling fumes from the explosion added to the torture.  His lungs felt as if they must burst, and he lost so much blood that he would never have lived if Uncle Jack and two other miners had not heard the report of the explosion and found him in the shaft.  They carried him home, three of them, for he was a large man. 

He was unrecognizable with his face blown half away, the empty, staring sockets where his eyes should have been, and one-half of his hand and arm dangling by a fragment of skin.  Such a broken, bloody piece of humanity to take back to a woman married but five weeks!  No one will ever know the torture, the agony, the intense suffering, both physically and mentally, the two people felt during the long months Harry lay in bed, close to death.  He wanted to die, prayed that he would, but his wife's prayers were answered.  She couldn't lose him; he meant so much to her.  In his pain, discouragement and sorrow, her love had seemed to grow, not with pity, but a tender, protective affection as a mother for her child.  She did everything she could to make his days of agony and suffering less painful.  Her hours with him were a torture to her; a mental and physical anguish, yet she bore her pain in silence. 

At last, after a year, he had improved enough to get up and feel his way ever so slowly around his once perfect home.  After another six months, he was taken to Chicago to one of the best eye specialists in America.  Nothing could be done.  Harry's eyes had been blown completely away; only emptiness remained.  His features were those of a stranger.  Inside his cheeks and around his jaw and cheekbones, were particles of rocks which had become imbedded and the skin had grown over them.  He carried horrible scars on his face all his life.  Three maimed fingers remained on his right hand, the other half of his hand and arm were gone.  Yet he could thank God he had been spared.  Yes, he thanked God he was almost whole.  More than anything, he thanked Him for his wife.  She had remained faithful to him during every hour of his need.  She loved him devotedly, a love which grew more beautiful through the years. 

Two healthy children, a girl and an boy, were born to the couple, who dearly loved their son and daughter.  Soon after, the family moved to Idaho, where they made their home.  A few years later, the couple were blessed with a second son, who lived only twelve years. 

1903 - Harry, Mabel, Ezra Joe and Lillian Werry

Harry was brave.  He endured his affliction in silence, never aggrieving others and above all always cheerful.  He was hurt intensely whenever he thought of his wife's having to support the family, and he did everything he could to help make the journey through life easier for her.  The things he could do were marvelous, and yet one would sigh in thankfulness for one's physical perfection.  Harry lived for forty-four years, inspiring others with his cheerfulness and courage.

1927 - Harry C. Werry cutting wood